Surely you jest
by Feeble Pen
Summary: I'm afraid I've lost it, Watson."
1. Chapter 1

Watson walked up to his flat hearing the soft, muffled sounds of the plucking of a violin. He walked in, tossing his coat on the coat rack and sitting down across his friend and unfolded his newspaper.

"Holmes, would you please stop that noise?" Watson said without looking up. Holmes said nothing but kept plucking absent-mindedly. Odd. Watson peered up from the newspaper to see Sherlock staring hauntingly into space. He shuddered at the sight. He had never seen Sherlcok with such an expression. "Holmes?"

He said nothing but kept plucking carelessly at his violin.

"Holmes?" He asked again, getting up from his seat. Any other day he would think that Sherlock was playing a joke but the eeriness that emanated off him along with the expression of loss mixed with what looked like fright worried him. "Holmes?" Watson walked slowly towards him. He placed his hand carefully on Sherlock's shoulder. As soon as he did though Sherlock jumped, startled.

"Watson? When did you arrive?" He asked, genuinly surprised.

"Not but a minute ago. I told you stop playing your violin, but you completely ignored me."

"Lies." Sherlock contested. "You said no such thing. You snuck up on me." He said childishly.

Watson rubbed the bridge of his nose with his finger suddenly becoming tired. He sat back into his chair and grabbed his paper. Sherlock continued to pluck at his violin. "Anyways," Watson began, "How did the case go?"

A sour note and the plucking stopped abruptly. He looked from his newspaper once more.

"It went, um, fine. Yes. Another simple case solved." Sherlock became flustered. He got up from his seat, quickly setting down his violin. "I'm going out."

"Wait up!" Watson jumped up from the chair and in front of the door. "What's going on? You never leave this place unless you have to."

"Yes well..." Sherlock thought of nothing to say but instead tried frantically tried to push Watson out of the way but to no avail.

"Where's Gladstone?" Watson asked glancing around the room for the poor animal. "Did you kill the dog indefinitely this time?"

"N-Yes, yes I did." Sherlock said trying to put on his guiltiest look. "I'll go and find him a nice doggy coffin. He tried pushing Watson once more but with the same results.

"No," Watson grabbed Sherlock's arm trying to hold him still. "He's still breathing."

"Oh, Thank heavens. I'll get him some lovely flowers to make him feel better."

"Holmes what's going on?" He asked irritated.

"I dunno what your talking about. Nothing is going on." Sherlock said acting dumb.

"Holmes." Watson said firmly.

"What?" Sherlock backed away.

"You're acting strange--er than usual. Now tell me."

Sherlock let out a heavy sigh and dropped back in his chair wearily, giving up. "I- well it's about the case." Watson nodded sitting across from him, listening. "Three daughters, two sons, the father and the murdered step-mother. A simple enough case, right?" Sherlock asked rhetorically.

"Sure..." Watson said dubiosly.

"Well I arrived at their estate and quickly started to work but I couldn't find any discerning evidence. Nothing made sense to me. I was unable to read any of the family members. I couldn't pick up on the slightest hint if they had done it or not. I told them..." Sherlock paused not wanting to finish his sentence. "I told them I couldn't figure it out." He said with shame, a look of sadness coming across his face.

Watson felt sorry for his old friend, but had Sherlock been able to solve this case? "You're probably ill." Watson walked to him and placed his hand on Sherlock's forehead. "How do you feel?

"I'm not ill!" Sherlock raised his voice in to Watson or perhaps himself. "I'm afraid I've lost it, Watson."


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for the reviews and I hope I haven't gone out of character, but I hope you enjoy my first story.

"Surely, you jest." Watson said in disbelief. "Is this some sort of cruel joke?" Sherlock looked at him with intensity. He bit his tongue. "Well perhaps it was just this one case. Perhaps you were just stressed from. All. The. Work..." He wasn't fooling anyone and Sherlock gave him an exasperated look. "Look. I've got another case, but I didn't bother to tell you since you would have probably found it too...simple."

"Well I guess it's perfect now." Sherlock said mockingly.

"Yes. Think positive." Watson said jovially.

"Sarcasm escapes you my dear Watson." Sherlock slumped deep into his chair. "I won't take the case. I'm far too depressed."

"Get up." Watson stood, grabbing his coat. "They should be in."

"No." Sherlock pouted.

"I'll drag you out of here if I have to." Watson threatened.

"hn. Doubtful."

"Oh, Thank you so much for coming Mr. Watson and this must be Mr. Holmes!" A thin woman walked down the stairs of the foyer. She was a plain woman, nothing special. Brown hair with eyes to match.

"Yes, and It's a pleasure Mrs. Lockheed." Watson elbowed Holmes slouched right next to him.

"Yes, a pleasure." Sherlock said lazily.

"Likewise." She smiled. "Oh, Gregory, this is Mr. Watson and Mr. Holmes here to help us find my wedding ring." A sharply dressed man entered from a door to the left.

"Ah, yes. I hope you'll be able to help us. The wedding is just this thursday and Emilia refuses to get married unless we find that ring."

"Yes, it was my mother's and her mother's before that." Emilia began up the stairs. "It was in my room in one of my jewelry boxes." The three men began to follow her. "I'm not sure if someone broke in or if one of the help has pocketed it." They walked down a long hallway and entered a door on the left. It was a grandeur room. She led them to a table with a vanity mirror. She lifted the lid of a small jewel encrusted jewelry box. "It was in here, but see, there's nothing." She looked up to Watson and Holmes, waiting.

Watson glanced at Holmes, but Sherlock looked lazily about. Watson cleared his throat and elbowed Holmes. "Oh, right." Sherlock snapped back into reality. "Hmm..." he examined the table closely. "Well it obviously wasn't a common theif." He stated the obvious.

"Then who was it?" Mr. Lockheed asked.

"I don't know." Sherlock said blankly. They all looked at him confused. Silence dragged between them.

"Well," Watson broke the silence. "Sherlock, there must be some sort of clue. Who would take the ring?" Watson began examining the box.

"Watson," Sherlock pulled him aside a few feet from the couple. "I cannot help these people."

"Holmes, stop that. You--"

"No! You stop that." Sherlock interuppted in hushed tones. "I cannot help them not because I don't want to but rather because I am unable." he became frustrated.

Watson said nothing, but nodded in acknowledgement. "Mr. Lockheed, Madam, I am afraid we can be of no help. There is not enough discernable evidence to find the culprit. File a report with the police. I'm terribly sorry to inconvienance you like this."

"Oh, well thank you anyways." Emilia smiled with a faint hint of dissappointment. "Yes well. Quite alright." Mr. Lockheed shook their hands.

"Well I hope you find your ring." Watson mustered a smile. They were escorted out of the house.

"Watson. Hold on a moment." Sherlock stopped and walked back to the couple as Watson watched, baffled, a few feet away as Sherlock exchanged a few words with them.

"What was that all about?" He asked as Holmes returned.

"I apologized for not being able to help them." Sherlock walked past him.

"You? Apologize? Are you sure you're not ill.? That's not like you at all." Watson followed.

"Yes, well, it's not like me to be at such a complete loss."

Within the next couple of days Sherlock spiraled down into one of his worst depressions. He either slept all day or sat in the sitting room staring blankly at the wall. Watson became worried but whatever he said didn't penetrate through Holmes ears. Holmes didn't eat but merely drank tea on occassion. Watson couldn't stand to watch his old friend deteriorate slowly.

"Holmes, you must not go on living like this. It's not the end of the world." Watson insisted.

"Isn't it if I cannot do the only thing I am able to? An artist has their canvas. Without it, what could he do? A writer without pen and sheet? Useless, as am I. Tell me what I am supposed to do if I cannot do what I enjoy?" He looked at Watson. "Tell me."

But Watson couldn't, he was at a loss for words. His poor friend had lost something very dear to him.

"Do you feel sorrow for me?" Holmes questioned.

"Admittedly, yes." He looked down.

"How about guilt? Some of that?"

Watson looked up in befuddlement. "Well, yes, but--"

The corners of Holmes' mouth curled into a most devious smirk. "good, but fret no more, My dearest Watson. Your debt has been paid."

Watson was at a complete loss. "What debt?" He asked, confused.

"Revenge. For eating the last of one of the delectable pastries one of our old patrons had brought us. Brilliant baker. I had but one before you consumed the rest like the little piggy you are."

Watsons face went blank.

"Perhaps now you've learned to share like a good boy." Holmes continued, but Watson ignored and instead walked to his room in silence.

"Watson?"

He closed the door behind him.

"Hm. Perhaps I went a little too far." Sherlock conjectured, picking up his Violin and plucking at it.

He was cut off by six loud gunshots, one right after the other, emptied into the wall of Watsons room.

"Ah. Just a little."


End file.
